I went for a walk. At about the one-mile mark, I looked down the path ahead.
My knees threatening to buckle, that all too familiar question resounded in my mind, “How much further are you going to go?”
It seems to be a question that shows up when you’re about to give up. When you’re about to turn around and head back to where you came from. When the pain becomes too much to bear and you cast aside how far you’ve come, focusing your gaze on the rough road ahead.
As leaves crunched under my shoes and the chilly air flushed my cheeks, another thought took that question’s place: “Was the prodigal son weary when running home?”
With his father waiting and beckoning at the horizon line, how hard do you think he ran? The arms of his father were much warmer than the pig pen he once called home.
If our own Heavenly Father is waiting at the end of the road, how much harder would we run?
Even with lungs and legs burning under the weight, could we be stopped?
Like the woman who burst through the door with her alabaster box of perfume, just to worship at Jesus’ feet. Even though her act required breaking all of society’s rules, she couldn’t be stopped.
Like the woman who bled for many years and was kept on the outskirts of the crowd. Even though she had to cry “unclean” with every step and risk losing what was left of her pride, she couldn’t be stopped.
Could we be stopped? Would we turn back?
Or would we forget our weariness and run until we reached His arms?
I did finally turn back.
But when I did, I thought about Him standing at the place where the path bends into the trees.
With His hands on His knees, He watches me closely and waits. For every step, He claps and shouts a hopeful, “Come on! You’re almost here! You got it!”
Like a proud papa, He laughs, seeing me inch closer and closer to the finish line.
And as my heart leaps, I speed up.
I push past the burn. The pain.
I trample on the limbs that threaten to trip me.
My sore lungs fill with air.
“Keep your eyes on me!” I hear Him say.
And suddenly, He’s there.
He’ll be there.
And once we run this race set before us, He’ll smile and say, “Well done.”
How much further are you going to go?
Brenna Marie Miles, Writer 
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